


Borderlines

by hollybennett123



Series: Tipping Point [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Good Omens (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Play, Casual Sex, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Grinding, Just the Tip, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Praise, Repressed Feelings, Self-Denial, Wet & Messy, general stupidity, poor communication skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-25 00:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21108149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollybennett123/pseuds/hollybennett123
Summary: Michael sayswhat if we—and David saysyes, every time.It’s not like it really counts.





	Borderlines

**Author's Note:**

> Me, a few weeks ago: "If someone wrote the tale of David and Michael - who have firmly agreed that they aren't going to have sex but do convince one another, both ~50 year old adults, that it doesn't count if it's just the tip - I WILL give that person the keys to my house and car just saying." I then obviously started writing it myself as I have no self control, wahoo!
> 
> Having gotten stuck halfway through and not really getting anywhere with it, I then read [_I can't tell you, but I know it's mine_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20727332) by the lovely and talented equestrianstatue and it all fell into place after that as this fic works as something of a follow-on sequel set a few weeks down the line. While this probably also makes sense as a standalone, I'd recommend you read that first if you haven't already since a) it gives a bit more background as to how they started out with this whole thing, and b) it's just an outstandingly excellent fic.

It’s always been David’s hotel room before, by accident rather than design. That they’ve ended up in Michael’s room tonight is another precedent in a seemingly constant procession of firsts, and it makes David feel off-balance somehow: Michael's things on the dresser, his cologne clinging to the sheets. It makes it even harder to separate the things David wants from the things he’ll allow himself to have, the line between the two blurring increasingly by the day.

That’s the problem with _lines_. This one right here, still a messy scribble of a thing ostensibly defining what’s allowed without giving too much thought to what isn’t, agreed in the heat of the moment in hushed tones against walls and on mattresses and, on one memorable occasion, in a bathroom, David already on his knees. The words had caught in his throat that day, tumbling out quickly when Michael asked him if he was sure. His mouth had been well-filled after that, no more room for discussion.

They’ve never once had a proper conversation about any of it, even if he knows on some level crossing that line is something they can’t come back from, wherever it might be. Sometimes nights like these — these sex-adjacent fumblings which over time have inched bit by bit into something more — feel like being swallowed by a tide, unstoppable and all-consuming. Michael is something that happens _to_ you, and David finds himself swept up in the rush of it each time as the ever-willing recipient of whatever’s on offer.

Tonight’s been more of a slow burn than usual. A steady stripping down, some idle stroking as they kiss.

On the bed, insinuating himself between David’s thighs, Michael’s hand makes a home for itself beneath one of David’s bent knees. His thumb strokes enticingly against bare skin as he presses down and back, opening David up. For all they’ve been naked together once before, it wasn’t like this: last time, a steam-filled shower blurring their vision along with the defined edges of what’s allowed. Now, in Michael’s bed amongst rumpled bedclothes, face to face and increasingly intimate.

The boundaries keep getting nudged further and further away from where David first imagined them, vague and ever-moving. _Accommodating_.

“Flexible,” Michael murmurs, warm and appreciative against David’s throat. David’s heart skips a beat — thinks for a wild moment that he voiced at least some of his thoughts out loud — before realising it’s mere coincidence, a filthy compliment and nothing more.

Michael kisses him again then, long and slow and lazy about it in a way that’s somehow both calming and infuriatingly arousing. Every time they build up to something more intense, Michael eases back again. David thinks about making the first move, asking for more. Knows he won’t. Not today.

“Do you want my fingers again tonight?” Michael says finally, Christ, _finally_, moving to press a trail of kisses against his jaw. David can feel his roguish smile even if he can’t see it. “We could do that, if you like. Seem to remember you were pretty into it last time.”

David remembers with startling clarity and, truth be told, has thought of little else since. Puts his own fingers inside himself, alone in the dark and empty expanse of his hotel room of an evening, pretending they’re Michael’s.

“Yeah,” David says, a quiet exhale. “That was — really good.”

Michael hums in acknowledgement, reaching under one of the pillows and pulling out a tube of lubricant. David isn’t sure whether he keeps it there for his own use, or whether he stashed it there knowing exactly what they’d be getting up to tonight; finds both ideas equally and ridiculously hot.

Michael slicks up a couple of fingers, breathing on them to warm the lube. Rubs the pad of his middle finger over David’s hole in a gentle spiral, getting him wet and encouraging him to relax.

“Love getting my fingers in you,” Michael says conversationally, coaxing one inside him and then another when David shifts his hips impatiently. It’s riding right on the edge of too much, the delicious stretch of them making David groan, a low sound deep in his chest. “Love the sounds you make. Like that, see.”

The effect is twofold and has David flushing hot all over, self-conscious at Michael having drawn attention to how loud he can get but equally set alight at the sheer pleasure of it. That little flare of embarrassment, the hot candleflame flicker of it under his skin, mixes somewhere along the way with arousal and makes his cock jump eagerly against his belly.

In many ways, he’s glad Michael can read him so easily. The thought of having to candidly set out in detail everything he wants Michael to do to him — in this, something that’s supposed to be casual and nothing more, or so he’s assumed so far based on nothing more than guesswork — is so mortifying he shuts that train of thought down entirely, shunts it rather firmly back into focusing on the feeling of Michael’s fingers filling him up in a way he can never quite manage on his own.

Frowning in concentration, Michael screws his fingers back into the clutch of David’s body, easing into fucking him in a steady rhythm. Runs his other hand up over David’s stomach and onward to tease over his nipples, pinching at the sensitive peaks of them until David doesn’t know whether he wants to plead with him to keep doing it or beg for him to stop, barely able to reason at all through the haze of arousal. He arches into him in a silent plea for more even as he’s gritting his teeth and whining, the sharp shocks of pleasure overwhelming.

“Fuck me,” David hears himself saying distantly, “I can take another, _fuck_, that feels good.”

Christ, he must seem so desperate. A couple of fingers in him and he’s already wrecked. Doesn’t know how to act otherwise, thoughts scattered.

Michael curls his fingers with intent, rubbing insistently up inside him with a knowing gleam in his eye until David’s clutching at the sheets open-mouthed. Drags them out slowly, wild-haired and wide-smiling.

“Don’t want you coming just yet,” he says with a wink, and David can only imagine how ruined he looks already.

Michael eases his weight down onto him instead, braced on his hands to thrust the hot, hard length of his cock alongside David’s, making them both moan aloud. It’s wonderfully, terrifyingly easy to imagine being fucked like this.

“Just out of curiosity,” Michael says, still rubbing off on him. “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to. Have you ever had a cock in you before?”

His tone is light but his eyes are so, so dark. David honest-to-god whimpers before he remembers to bite down on it, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip until he feels the sharp edge of pain.

“Not, ah — not a real one?” he says eventually, hoping it’ll suffice as an answer without having to divulge the whats, whys and many, many whens.

Michael’s rhythm falters, hips stuttering mindlessly for a moment as he thrusts over David’s hipbone before lining himself up again to rub unerringly against David’s cock.

“Yeah?” Michael says, breathing a bit harder than he was moments earlier. He gives David a searching sort of look; the kind that means _stop me if you don’t like this, but there’s some stuff I’d like to say_. “I know we aren’t — that we can’t, like — but sometimes when I get myself off, I think about fucking you. Gets me off so fucking hard, it does, Christ.”

Stunned, David spreads his legs wider, unthinking, and Michael grunts a deeply satisfied sound as he thrusts down against him. David would be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind either, and now it’s the only thing he can focus on. Michael’s cock has a slight curve to it that he thinks would feel unimaginably good inside him. It’s perfectly proportioned, plenty to satisfy without being intimidating, and he wants it so badly it’s like a pleasurable, full-bodied ache.

Michael’s cock slips between David’s thighs as David’s hips lift greedily to meet him, the tip catching at his hole. Michael gasps into his mouth, cock twitching, rutting against him keenly. David whines in response, raking his nails across Michael’s back in a desperate attempt to get even closer.

“That — do that again,” David says, still wracked with sensation.

Michael makes a choked sound, focused on where he’s pressed up against David’s body and does as he’s asked. Does it again, and again, snugging the wet tip of his cock right up against David’s hole. There’s this slight _give_ when he cants his hips, like David’s body is there for the taking, more than ready to be filled and used and fucked.

“Christ, it’d be so fucking easy to get inside you,” Michael says, ragged and broken-sounding. David shivers, a rolling wave of pleasure at the thought of it, and Michael looks at him so acutely David can hardly breathe. “What if — ” Michael says, making David’s whole body feel like it’s burning up in anticipation, “ — we just messed about a bit like this. Just the tip. Not much different than what we’re doing now, is it?”

“Okay, yeah, Jesus Christ,” David agrees all too readily. He holds onto Michael like an anchor. “Do it.”

“I don’t have any condoms to hand, so — I’d, ah. Have to be bare.”

“It’s fine,” David says, swallowing thickly, stomach flipping over with arousal at the way Michael says _bare_. It’s difficult not to start outright begging. “M’okay with it if you are.”

“It’s not, like, _proper_ or anything, doing it like this though, is it?” Michael says, easy and bright despite his breathlessness as he repositions himself. “Just a bit of teasing. Bit of fun.”

David hardly needs to justify these things to himself when Michael’s more than capable of rationalising for the both of them. It’s ridiculous, he knows, deep down; reckless, immature stupidity, both of them as bad as each other.

The line’s so smudged now as to be barely perceptible, though he finds, as always, that he can’t bring himself to mind too much. As long as there’s some sort of limit remaining — some flimsy, barely-defined boundary-edge he can point to in the safety of his own mind and say _look, we’re trying our best here, everything’s under control_ — he’ll keep riding the inevitable descent until the whole thing falls apart or doesn’t.

Michael pushes inside and David’s world tilts on its axis, the room spinning. It’s perfect in some ways yet not nearly enough in others and God, it’s so fucking good.

“Is it alright?” Michael says, eyes wide and his arms so tense they’re trembling. “Just this, yeah? It’s not too much?”

The way Michael’s restraining himself in combination with the sheer desperation in his voice is stupidly, maddeningly hot. Some awful part of him thinks it’d be easier if Michael had just barrelled on ahead and kept going, inferring it’d be okay without checking in. Now David has to dwell on the options and make a decision. Has to conclude, with a fierceness that terrifies him —

“Yeah,” David says, shuddering. “It’s — yeah.”

“Yeah it’s alright? Or yeah it’s too much?”

David meets his gaze, pressing his fingers into the meat of Michael’s hips, urging him to stay right where he is. “I want it, is what I mean,” he says, finding courage in the glimmer of vulnerability he sees in Michael’s expression.

“Fuck,” Michael says shakily. He gives a tentative, barely there thrust, a delicious tease of sensation. “Jesus, David. _Fuck_. Love —”

He trails off, lost in it, and maybe it’s the beginning of a sentence now forgotten or perhaps it’s an endearment unused until now. Hard to tell, but David imagines it as the latter for a moment even if it isn’t. It makes him ache for it, wanting to please Michael; wants to make him feel so good that David can remain the centre of his sun-bright focus just that bit longer, here in this room, here in this bed.

“God, look at you,” Michael says in wonder, rocking into him the tiniest bit and then withdrawing with an obscene, slick sound.

He shifts his weight, on his knees between David’s thighs and braced on one hand over him. Wraps the fingers of the other around his shaft, dragging the tip of his cock back and forth over David’s hole, and pushes inside just enough to swallow up the head again.

He moves like he’s going to pull back, to keep up this in-and-out tease, but David stops him. It’s good, it’s _so_ good, but —

“Wait,” David breathes, reaching to fleetingly brush his fingers over Michael’s wrist. “Keep — keep your hand there. Fuck.”

“Like this?” Michael says, stroking himself with those same rolling tugs he gave himself the very first time David watched him get himself off, weeks ago and what feels like a lifetime away now.

David’s seen him wank off several times in the interim, knows the strokes intimately, but it’s something else entirely to feel him like this.

“Yeah,” David says. “Like that.” He groans as Michael’s hand picks up the pace, pulling himself off with purpose.

The visual of it and the brush of Michael’s knuckles against his rim have him so aroused he can’t think straight. The subtle back-and-forth of Michael’s prick as he shifts from upstroke to downstroke, the tug of his cockhead where he’s stretched open around him, is so earth-shatteringly good that David’s dripping all over himself now as he pulls himself off in an equal rhythm and can’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed about it.

“Fuck, you’re good,” Michael says, almost absently. It’s as if he’s speaking to himself as much as he’s speaking to David. “So fucking good for me, aren’t you? Love seeing you like this.”

The praise yanks at something deep inside David. His stomach twists, swiftly followed by a wash of sensation that licks over his skin like sinking into a hot bath. His cock throbs in the grip of his fist.

There’s sweat at Michael’s temple, the air between them close and heat-soaked. David wants nothing more than for Michael to take him by the waist and pull him roughly down onto his cock to fill him up properly. To thrust home, balls deep, and give him the thorough fucking he craves.

It’s — not _allowed_. He can’t remember why.

“I’m really fucking close,” Michael says tightly, apologetic and very much reluctant as he twists his wrist a couple more times and finally pulls out. “Any more and I’ll come in you, don’t think I could stop myself.”

“On me,” David says. “Fuck, anywhere you want. Please.”

“Jesus,” Michael groans, tugging at himself roughly.

He comes all over David’s cock in thick pulses, slicking David’s palm where he’s stroking himself quick and fast through the loose-gripping cage of his fingers. Wrings the last of it from himself with a rumbling hum of satisfaction, flushed and hungrily taking in the sight of David fucking his own cock through his wet fist.

_Make a right mess of you_, Michael had said that first time in David’s hotel room, the words soaked in longing like it was something he needed despite them never even going so far as to touch one another that night. Went on to demonstrate just how much he enjoys making a mess of him in all the times that followed, and David can’t get enough.

David _wants_, in so many ways — wants to come, wants Michael in ways he doesn’t think he’s allowed to. Wants Michael at the very least to do more than just look at him.

Michael doesn’t need asking, though. Eases himself on top of David to mouth over his neck, the shell of his ear, smearing his come over David’s hipbone. Scoops some of it up with his fingers and rubs it messily over David’s inner thighs, so tantalisingly close to his hole that David almost takes him by the hand to press his slick fingers back up inside him before he remembers himself. Strokes himself faster instead, palm skidding over the wetness coating his cock.

“Fuck, look at the state of you,” Michael says. “Would’ve put it inside you, if I could. Filled you up till you were dripping with it then turned you over and fucked you properly so I could put another load in you.”

“Michael,” David breathes, hips jumping, “God — ”, and then he’s coming all over his own heaving stomach, spurting almost up to his chest, clutching at the bedsheets as he keeps stroking himself until he’s so sensitive he can barely stand it.

“That’s it, there you are,” Michael says soothingly, running a reassuring hand over David’s knee where it’s shaking. David feels utterly floored, staring up at the ceiling as he finally lets his hands drop to his sides and tries to even out his breathing. “Christ, you’ve made a right proper mess of yourself. You’re gorgeous.”

Michael wipes the worst of it off him after, using his own discarded t-shirt and laughing warmly as he does so. He offers David the shower first, and beyond that it’s like the charged tension has broken somehow, replaced by casual and friendly chit-chat as they get dressed again.

They don’t discuss what Michael said — whether it was just dirty talk, something to get David off, or something he wants in reality. Don’t talk about much of anything beyond work and the dire lack of choice of things to watch on TV tonight. Another time, David thinks. They’ll talk about it at some point. If they get to it.

Michael takes him by the wrist as David’s about to leave. Pulls him into a chaste but lingering kiss, the first time he’s done so without it being a natural progression in the midst of things.

Another first, David thinks later, back in the quiet of his own hotel room and alone with his thoughts. They’re certainly racking up quite the list.


End file.
